Who Am I?
by VixenBlueEyes
Summary: Back by popular demand, here I am. Little angst-ridden tragedy fic. Feeling in a murderous mood so yet another major character death. Surprise pairing, see if you can guess who. Uhhh, rated for dark content. Chapter 2 now up!
1. Default Chapter

The young man stood before the tombstone, clutching in his hand a bouquet of roses. A thin droplet of blood slipped over his fingers as the thorns pierced his skin. One singular drop fell on the dirt a bare inch from the cool stone. It was a grey, overcast morning, a day when most people would be resigned to their homes or offices, waiting out the threat of rain.

The young man was stock still, if anyone had seen him at that moment, they would have thought he was some sort of statue, inadvertently placed on the cemetery path. The only signs of life that came from him were the occasional drifts of steam that were emitted from his mouth, indicating breath.

The young man blinked rapidly, trying to stave off the tears. How could he live without her? It seemed impossible that she was gone, she'd always seemed to be a fixture in the lab, always there with her gracious smile and infectious laugh. Their playful flirtations had always been so harmless, so charming; why couldn't he have taken it further? She was the one who'd believed in him, listened to him. After the explosion, she'd been so patient, just sitting there, listening as he described his nightmares. His fears, his hopes and dreams, she was the only one who knew the real him.

The young man knelt and set the roses on the brown earth, still dripping with his blood. They lay there, shockingly red against the drab backdrop of the stone. He sniffed, rising back up, still staring at the headstone. A roll of thunder rumbled overhead, promising rain. How fitting.

During the funeral, everyone had been so sympathetic to her older friends, comforting them, embracing them. He'd sat in the back, watching, mourning privately as the eulogy went on, everyone saying wonderful things about the woman he loved. He could still see her in the casket, her hair perfect and straight, her skin pale and cool like a doll. The men of her life had been silent, still, stoic. The guilt and grief that hung in the air during the wake was heavy and smothering.

The young man felt like screaming into the sky, cursing the world. But he just stood there, watching the grave as if magically her hand would pop through followed by her head and her marvelous eyes, twinkling mischievously as if to say 'Gotcha!'. But no, nothing happened. And nothing would ever happen. The woman he loved rested under the cool earth forever.

Gregory Dylan Sanders turned and walked slowly down the path, turning his back on the cool grey tombstone and the only woman he ever loved.

The tombstone that read...

CATHERINE WILSON WILLOWS

1963-2005

_She will be missed by many, loved by all._

_Rest in Peace._


	2. Aftermath

DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything. CSI belongs to Jerry Bruckheimer, CBS, and Alliance Atlantis. I promise I will put them back when I'm done.  
SUMMARY: Okay, basically like the companion piece to 'Now that you're gone'. This is much darker, hints of suicide, if this isn't your cup of tea, there's the back button.

Gregory Dylan Sanders sat in his dark apartment, staring blankly at the wall. He'd been sitting like that for going on...three hours now. Beside him on the couch lay a half-empty bottle of whiskey. His head spun and swam from the sudden onslaught of alcohol on an empty stomach. Sluggishly he blinked, trying to clear his mind. Somewhere in the back of his brain, it registered that he was going to be late for work. A harsh sound some misinformed person might mistake for a bitter laugh escaped him. It would never be the same without her there. It would be cold, cruel, unforgiving. Never would it be the same.

Gregory Dylan Sanders grimaced in mental pain as yet another image of Catherine swam through his skull. He could see her earnest blue eyes as she carefully explained the finer points of collecting evidence from some guy's shorts. He'd nodded and looked like he was listening, all the while just drinking in her perfect face, outlining every detail, every contour. An errant strand of strawberry blonde hair had fallen into her face as she mulled over the patterns of the briefs. How he'd wanted to brush it out of her eyes. But no, he couldn't because he was a big fricking chicken. Sure, he'd jest and joke, but when it came right down to it, Greg Sanders was a big chicken. Silently, he berated himself for never acting out his desires, for never telling Catherine how he truly felt. Lord knows how many times he practiced in the bathroom mirror, confessing to his reflection his undying love. But every single time he decided to get up the courage, she'd be in the break room surrounded by the 'guys'. The gaggle of love-struck colleagues who couldn't help but fall in love with her. And he'd turn like a dog, with his tail between his legs and retreat to the lab, hiding behind his cheerful façade.

Gregory Dylan Sanders felt a surge of drunken anger, just in general towards everyone. Towards Grissom for always seeming to take up Catherine's time and friendship. Towards Warrick, for shamelessly flirting with her. Towards Nick, for being the one she comforted and doted upon. Even towards Sara for being able to even argue with Catherine, for being able to actually work with her. Even with Ecklie, for breaking up the team, ensuring that he would rarely see his Catherine. He felt angry with himself for letting people think he was just some air-headed goofball. At times he could be, but that wasn't how he was all the time. Why? Why had he let people think that? Even Catherine, God love her, never thought more of him than some silly little kid with super-cool toys.

Gregory Dylan Sanders idly fingered the cold metal of his firearm. He still had it. By some grace of God, no one had thought to take it from him. Another bitter sound of laughter sounded from him. Of course, they'd never expect Sanders to try something like this. Not good ol' boy Greg, Nick maybe and definitely Warrick, but never Greg. Greg would just shrug it off, try to cheer everyone up. Be quiet for a few days, then come back to his normal, bouncy self. But no one knew the real him, no one knew that when he came home after a tough shift, he sat alone in the dark and cried. No one except her. No one knew that he had nightmares that ripped him out of bed and onto the floor screaming. No one except her. Catherine had always seemed to stare right through him, into the other side.

Gregory Dylan Sanders felt the hot tears stream down his face as the whiskey brought about the memories of that call. That dreaded call that no one ever wants to hear. He could still hear Brass's voice, harsh with unshed tears as he retold the details of the accident. That was all it was, a stupid accident. Some drunk driver ran a red light and T-boned right into Catherine's car as she was on her way to a scene. She died instantly. Greg rubbed a hand over his eyes, wiping away the tears. With his other hand, he lifted the handgun and placed it gently on his lower lip. It stayed there for a second, jiggling slightly in his trembling hand. He could do it, right then. It would be easy, just pull the trigger and everything would be over, he could see Catherine again and finally tell her how he truly felt. His index finger slipped over the trigger and held there. Rivulets of tears fell down staining his face making it sticky. He willed himself to do it, to pull the trigger, make it all go away. But try as he might, his finger stayed still. Slowly, the gun lowered and was set back on the couch.

Gregory Dylan Sanders took a deep breath and stood up, knocking the bottle to the ground. He wouldn't do it. He owed to Catherine to stay here, stay alive. He owed it to Lindsey, to keep her mother's memories alive. He owed it to the team to be the air-headed goofball they loved so much. Wiping his eyes, Greg headed to the bathroom to get a shower in to at least sober up before he went to work.

Gregory Dylan Sanders decided to love and forever love Catherine Wilson Willows within his heart.


End file.
